Carrying On
by Cls2011
Summary: Mary at Matthew's graveside. Thoughts, emotions, and observations. One shot.


_Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, Julian Fellowes does._

_A/N: So this 'lovely' idea popped up in my head today, so I wrote it and here it is. Truthfully, I really needed to get this out of my system so that I can work on chapter 7 of 'Little Talks.' Read and review, please._

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…" Mr. Travis' words sounded muffled for the rushing in her ears. She was only aware of the smell of the earth, the chill in the air, and the oppressing sense of despair surrounding those at the grave.

Standing to the side of the gaping hole that would be her husband's resting place, Mary did not shed a tear. No, unlike those around her she showed no sign of mourning except for wearing black, she remained Lady Mary Crawley. She felt nothing other than a cold numbness that came from the inside out.

"_The cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley..." _The words flitted through her mind. She wasn't cold, she had a heart: a heart, which had been so full of love and completeness; only to be shattered four days earlier like the china tea cup she had once dropped. The one person who allowed her to be completely free with her heart was now confined to a black box that was lying in the damp ground.

Lost in her thoughts Mary was back in the hospital room with Matthew…

"_I hope I am allowed to be your Mary Crawley for all eternity. Not Edith's version or anyone else's."_

"_You will be my Mary always; because mine is the true Mary."_

How full of hope they had both been when gazing into each other's eyes, and holding their son. Their son, who would now only know his father through the stories told to him by his family. Her heart broke more at that realization than at any other.

"_We will fight about any number of things, how to rear our children…"_ No, they wouldn't fight about that or anything else. It would just be her and her alone.

Mary pulled herself from her thoughts to observe those around her. What a picture they all made dressed in black. Her father, looking ashen and stricken, her mother at his side holding hands with Isobel who shed silent tears trying to lend support. Two women, who would be forever linked by losing a child too early. Edith, gripping the handkerchief in her hand so tightly that it had become nothing more than a wrinkled piece of cloth. Granny, standing as strong as ever; her head held high and old eyes that had seen more life and death than any of those in attendance, perhaps the only thing that betrayed her true emotions was the rhythm of her breathing. Every so often her breath would catch.

Mary returned her eyes back to the ground, focusing on the name inscribed on the coffin, "Matthew Reginald Crawley." He had survived the war, overcame his injuries, only to be taken in an automobile accident, how could fate be so cruel?

As the service concluded, people began to leave. Mary remained trying to hold off saying good-bye. When she finally turned away she noticed only Isobel was waiting for her. If anyone had come to mean as much to Mary as Matthew, it would be Isobel. With each step she took she relived a memory of her and Matthew together: their first meeting, the story of Andromeda, him grabbing her hand and saying "you matter a great deal," their first kiss, the garden party, the concert, him arriving home wounded, their dance and the kiss they shared while promised to other people, his proposal in the cold night air, the fight before their wedding, the wedding, their honeymoon in the South of France, being worried about having children, the Cricket game, and the hospital where they had went from a couple to a family.

"_I love you so terribly much."_

"_Yes, I know you do."_

And, she did know. She knew that he had loved her more than he thought it was possible to love.

"_You're a storm braver Mary. You're a storm braver if ever I saw one."_

She had braved one storm she would brave this one. She would prevail not just for Matthew, not just for their son, she would do it for herself.

"_I will love you till the last breath leaves my body."_

"_Oh my darling; me too, me too."_

With that thought she had ended up at Isobel's side. It was time to carry on, face life, and brave the storm.

Two women in black: one young one old, walked out of the gates of the cemetery and neither looked back. Life was carrying on.


End file.
